


The Gods' Gifts

by Hollandoodle



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, But afterwards there's, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, HEA, Lost Love, New Family, Post-The Battle of the Blackwater, Smut, and
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-06 22:17:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13420764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hollandoodle/pseuds/Hollandoodle
Summary: Modern A/U - Set four years after Sansa leaves King's Landing. After starting a new life she forms unexpected bonds and grows her own small, new family in Winterfell.





	The Gods' Gifts

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! I know there are parts of this that don't really sound like my usual writing style, but I was listening to an emotional song over and over and over, and this fic came of it. All angsty and sad. 
> 
> But you know me an Happily Ever Afters. I could never write something truly sad <3 because I love you guys! And I want to make you happy with my stories.
> 
> Enjoy!

Sansa looked out on the small backyard, remembering the fight she’d had to give just to buy the small piece of property. The owners hadn’t wanted to give it to her for the price she was wanting to pay, so she had begged her realtor to set up a meeting between them and her. It had happened, but only after weeks of Sansa’s phone calls, emails, and text messages to Roz, pleading with her to step in.

The meeting had gone well, when it finally happened. It started out terse, with the couple--an older couple who wanted to retire to Kings Landing for its warmer climate--initially holding out on their asking price.

But it was too much for Sansa, and she told them that. She told them that on her meager salary from her job at the Winterfell Coffee House & Cafe, she could only afford about ninety-five percent. That’s all the bank would give her, and not a sliver more, no matter how many times she begged  _ them _ \--thank the Gods Roz had been more receptive.

But the couple was adamant, and they had turned to leave, the older gentleman taking his wife’s hand in a gesture that caused Sansa’s heart to twist cruelly inside her chest. At one time she had hoped for that--for the love of a man who would lead her into old age, who would look out for her best interests, and to guide her over doorsteps, open car doors for her, make her coffee while she slept in on Sundays. She had at one time dreamed of a golden boy who would grow to love her as much as she loved him, and then later it was a dark haired soldier, a man made in the image of the Warrior who had warmed her bed for a single stolen night, before disappearing into the folds of night after a battle that had waged outside the city’s walls. 

But those were dreams long past--well, one nightmare and one dream, really. She had no business dwelling on the past, no matter how all of her bad choices, and how all of life’s paths, no matter how horrible they had turned out to be, no matter how wonderful and miraculous--had led her to this very point, where she was running out the door after the couple with tears on her pale face. The anguish in her heart twisted even more when she saw them paused, the woman already sitting in the front seat of the car with the man propping it open, his hip stopping the edge from closing on the scene happening before them.

It was Gavin. He had found someone to show his new truck, and he wasn’t about to let that opportunity to pass him by--the little social butterfly he had turned out to be. At four years old he could already hold a conversation with adults that made sense to them, even if he didn’t always pronounce his words correctly.

And it seemed that right now he was holding out the blue truck--scratched, missing a door, having been found on the side of the road during one of their daily walks--and she heard him recount the story in his little four-year-old voice.

It was warm, and he and Mama were walking when they saw the blue truck laying in the ditch. It was a gift, Mama had said, from the gods, for a perfect little boy. Gavin smiled up at the older woman who was in fact smiling back at him, and then he looked up at the older man, who had wiped away a tear just moments before.

A gift, Gavin explained, because he had been a good boy and had stayed quiet in the back of the coffee shop while Mama worked. And the gods gave gifts to good little boys, Mama always said.

The woman glanced up at her husband, oblivious to Sansa standing a good distance away, watching the scene unfold.

Gifts like this house, which Mama was so happy to have found, Gavin went on. He had never seen Mama smile as much as she did now, especially when she walked through the house with Ms. Roz. 

And seeing Mama smile made him smile.

So thank you for coming to meet him and Mama, he was saying as the woman handed back the truck. He liked them--he said so. He thought the man reminded him of his grandpa, and the woman reminded him of Mama’s old teacher, Ms. Mordane, because grandma had had red hair like Mama but Ms. Mordane had gray hair like this woman.

“Had?” she asked, herself wiping away a tear as she reached out to take his hand.

Gavin, in all of his four year old wisdom, had just nodded sagely, holding the old woman’s hand as though it was her who needed comforting.

Grandma and Grandpa had died, he told her, before he was born. A bad man had come and taken them away from Mama while he was still in her belly, and it was a--what was it called? Mi-wacle? 

“Miracle, boy,” the man had said.

“Miracle,” Gavin repeated. It had been a miracle that he was born, because Mama had been so sad.

But now she doesn’t have to be sad anymore because the gods sent you, and his gift for her is your house.

Gavin turned to look at the house, only then seeing Sansa standing there, giving her a big, toothy grin and waving with his other hand. It seemed like the older woman didn’t want to let go of his hand.

Sansa waved back, the couple also seeing her as Gavin spoke up from between them. 

The gods give gifts to good Mama’s, too, he said. This house… Hey, maybe you could be Mama’s new mama and daddy, because she could really use some. 

Gavin’s smile faltered as he leaned into the old woman.

Mama cries at night. “And I can hear her, so sometimes I sleep in her bed to make her feel better. But I tell her I’m scared of Petyr monsters.”

“Petyr monsters?” The woman glanced at Sansa, who gave up on holding back the tears that poured out of her blue eyes.

“Petyr monsters,” Gavin explained, “are the bad men who took Grandma and Grandpa.” But Mama won’t have to be sad anymore, because she’ll have a nice house now, away from all of the bad Petyr monsters, and she won’t have to be scared anymore.

Which meant maybe Mama could find a Daddy to share a bed with.

Maybe. If Gavin thought the man was good enough for his Mama.

With that he let go of the woman’s hand and ran to Sansa, embracing her legs with thin little four-year-old arms. 

“I love you, Mama. The gods gave me you. You’re my gift.”

A sob wracked Sansa’s chest and she fisted her hand against her mouth as she looked down at the top of Gavin’s head, brushing aside the dark brown curls and then looking into his upturned gray eyes, so like his fathers that it still made her feel like she had a piece of him with her, always. So precious.

“Aye,” she said to him, mimicking what that man told her that night, when she’d asked him if he knew what he was doing, fumbling with her bra clasp with his great big fingers and tearing at her clothes when he became impatient. It was the last time she’d laughed before he left her in the night, left a note on the pillow where he had rested his scarred face, a note she still kept tucked into her journal and read every night. 

“Aye, Gavin, and you are mine.”

 

~~~~~

 

“Gavin, you need to clean your room! Davos and Marya will be over in an hour!”

From the smaller bedroom of the small cottage, Sansa heard her six-year-old son yell, “Yes, Mama!”

Always such a good boy, she thought.

The last two years had seen them move into the cottage after Davos and Marya had agreed, on the condition that they get to come back regularly and check in. 

Thus Grandpa Davos and Grandma Marya were born.

They turned out to be a godsend, with most of Sansa’s family dead and gone. It was always nice, and it felt exactly like family when they brought up dishes Marya used to make for their own family, and Davos always had a new toy and stories of his shipping business to tell Gavin (although Sansa was sure not all of Davos’ shipping excursions were exactly the squall-braving, pirate-filled voyages he spoke of to Gavin). 

And it truly was a family. Sansa would greet the both of them with kisses on the cheek and hugs, and Gavin would run up and be lifted high in the air by Davos, and kissed on the cheeks by Marya. The couple spent holidays with their family down in King’s Landing, but always made special trips up to see Sansa and Gavin for an early or late holiday with their second family.

Sansa didn't mind one bit celebrating holidays whenever it worked out for all of them. Now that she was daytime manager of the cafe and could afford to hire a babysitter for Gavin while he wasn't in school, she was just happy to be able to have nice dinners and celebrations with people she loved.

As commander if the Night's Watch, Jon was rarely able to make the trip south for holidays, and Arya was off her long term boyfriend Gendry exploring the world. Bran had taken up some leadership position with a group up North as well, beyond the Northern Wall border, and although Sansa was convinced it wasn't a cult, she wondered sometimes why he had to be secretive about it. But she didn't question him, and instead chose to speak lovingly to her brother whenever he called.

They had all met Gavin, and Sansa felt that because of him, they would all at some point return to her in one way or another. They would all be a family again, at some likely distant point in the future. Because there was a new generation of Stark, even if the last name she’d chosen to put on the birth certificate was Clegane.

She glanced into the boy’s room now and saw him dutifully putting his toys back into his toy box--toys that, for the most part, came from Davos and Marya. There had been a few new ones that she’d splurged on, but with this new position at work, Gavin was going to have a good Sevenmas.

Not exorbitant, but good. Better than years past, with more food and a few extra toys, and perhaps even some decorations.

She was happy knowing he was going to be surprised.

She resumed her place at the stove, adding the last of the spices to the stew she was making for dinner. It was one of Davos’ favorites, which he had confided to her when Marya wasn’t within hearing distance. Sansa smiled to herself, remembering Davos’ kind smile that first time he had aimed it in her direction--outside the cottage so long ago, when he had announced he and Marya had changed their mind.

And today would be just one of many times when she would again--perhaps for the hundredth time over the last two years--thanked him profusely for their kindness, and for their love. Every letter, every phone call, and every visit was an opportunity for her to tell them, and she never let one opportunity go to waste.

When she finally sat on the small bench in her bedroom, she did so knowing everything was perfect, ready for her surrogate parents. The living room was clean and tidy, filled with her secondhand  _ everything _ ; items she was thankful to have in her possession. The mantle was lined with photos of Gavin and her. Though mostly they were of Gavin. The walls held a couple framed photo collages of his baby pictures, and several old family photos that Arya had given her for safekeeping, the last time she was in town. The rug beneath her coffee table was one her mother had kept in her sitting room, a gift from Jon. And from Bran, there was a bouquet of dried flowers in the middle, still vibrant in their color yet with faded scents from being so old, sitting in the center of the coffee table.

It was quaint and welcoming, just like the rest of the house. 

The single bathroom was sparsely decorated, but there were personal touches in the belongings there--the bucket of little boy bath toys beside the tub, the bowl of colorful rocks she picked up on her walks with Gavin, and a framed copy of the lyrics to The Bear And The Maiden Fair, a find from another one of their walks when they had stumbled on a yard sale. It cost less than a gumball and she liked the frame, had always intended on putting something else in it but just never did. Now when she was in the bathroom she often found herself reading it, feeling that she, too, now knew that knights were often not the true heroes.

It was her bedroom that was her sanctuary, where only Gavin had been. After everything she had gone through in past relationships she had needed that--a space where the only people allowed within were welcomed by invitation only. And this meant it was Sansa’s safe space.

Her bed wasn’t big, just slightly larger than Gavin’s, and everything it that room was secondhand just like the rest of the house. But it was hers.

The top of the long dresser held more photos, although these were photos she didn’t want to share.

Her parents’ wedding photo, with her mother wearing that Stark cloak over her beautiful dress. She hadn’t been the happiest bride, but in the end she had known she married her true love.

All of the Stark siblings as children, even Jon, her half brother, and Theon, the adopted boy. All smiling. All happy.

The scene of the shore in King’s Landing, just outside the Baratheon residence. One might wonder why she had that reminder of the abusive relationship she had endured, but they only had to look at the edge of the photo where she had cropped it, leaving a single man standing, staring at the camera, his face, as always, unsmiling.

Sandor Clegane.

Gavin’s father.

She often looked on that photograph when she read his note from the night of the Blackwater, having already memorized the words but feeling a closeness to him as she looked on his blocky handwriting-- _... leaving… might not ever come back… I’m sorry… won’t ever forget our night together… want you to get out while you still can…  _

“Mom! Davos’s car is outside!”

Brought out of her memories by Gavin’s voice, she called back, “Okay, I’m coming!” Although Gavin knew not to answer the door, she felt that there was always the chance that he would if he happened to see Davos or Marya’s face through the small window, so she immediately got up, casting one last glance at the picture of the man who had stolen her heart, and left the room, and her memories, behind.

The loud knock at the door was followed by Gavin’s footsteps as he ran out of his room, meeting her there as they both realized the shadow on the other side of the door could not be Davos, as it was much too tall.

Unaccountably, fear struck Sansa in her heart and she took a deep breath, bending down to Gavin and asking, “Could you please go into your room and find the white boat that Davos brought you the last time he was here? Remember, he was going to fix the mast for you?”

And off he went, oblivious to the fact that the boat was on top of the fridge, waiting for just that moment went Davos was able to look at it. She knew Gavin would spend a good amount of time searching for it, not wanting to disappoint Davos.

So as she turned to the door, seeing the height of the person standing behind it and yet knowing that it was Davos and Marya who they were expecting, she took a deep breath and turned the knob.  
  


~~~~~

 

None of this made sense.

Nearly six hours later she returned to the living room, having finally put a very sleepy Gavin to bed, feeling Sandor’s eyes track her as she moved through her small cottage--picking up the dirty plates and putting them in the sink, making sure Gavin’s toys were put back in their small toy box in the living room, and straightening the runner on the coffee table in front of Sandor.

Now, without Gavin as a buffer--absolutely excited that the man--the legend, who he had known was his father from a very early age--was actually sitting in his home, having dinner with him, talking to him, watching his Mama. He only agreed to go to bed when Sandor had promised to be back tomorrow, because as Gavin said, they had six years to catch up on.

But Gavin was in bed now, probably already asleep, and Sansa couldn’t sit still.

“Coffee on the porch?” she asked, hardly able to meet Sandor’s eyes. She saw him nod, though, so she made a small pot, waiting in the kitchen with her back to him while it brewed, and pouring it into two mugs.

Without even thinking, she made it the way he used to drink it--one sugar, a small dollop of cream, just enough to make it no longer translucent. Sugar rush, caffeine fix, or just his presence, she wondered which would be worse for her sleep, as she added enough cream to change the coffee's color to match her pale white skin; just the way she liked it.

He followed her out to the porch, a towering giant behind her, despite her own above average height. But he sat on the chair she gestured to a moment before she handed him his cup, being careful to not touch his fingers as she did so.

And then she sat, a small table between them on which they could put their coffees, as they both stared out over the small yard of the cottage she and Gavin called home.

It was quiet; far enough from the city that they didn’t have any traffic sounds but close enough that she and Gavin still said hello to their neighbors on their walks.

She wondered if Sandor would be around for their walk tomorrow. She hoped he would be.

But then she caught herself. She had no business being hopeful for anything concerning Sandor. She cut off that line of thinking as she looked over at him.

“Davos is sneaky,” she said instead, though she smiled lightly when she said it. Sandor, gray eyes focused on her, seemingly unwilling to now look at anything but her, even when she wasn’t speaking.

“Aye,” he rasped, and she wanted, for the thousandth time that evening, to take his voice and wrap it around her like a velvet cloak; to make him hers once again and to hear that voice every day for the rest of her life. It would send shivers up her spine even when she was an old woman sitting in her rocking chair on her porch--every day, from this day until the end of her days.

“I should have known he would do something like this. He’s always finding ways of surprising me.” She gestured to the flower beds in front of the porch, lining both sides of the short staircase. “The first year we moved in, those beds were barren, and so the next year he showed up with a truckload of flowers to plant. He and Gavin were out here all day while Marya and I supplied them with food and made sure they had plenty of sweet tea to keep them from getting parched.”

He still watched her, so she kept talking; toying with the hair that hung just to her shoulders, absently wondering what he thought of her new cut.

“That car--” she pointed to the old blue station wagon parked to the side of Davos’s only slightly newer sedan, “--he found for us in an ad. Made sure it was running well and helps me keep up on the maintenance. Gavin and I would be on bikes if Davos hadn’t done that.”

Sansa caught a glimpse of Sandor as he was putting down his coffee mug, letting his hands rest on his knees.

She remembered the things those hands did to her, how they had made her sing for him, and she clenched her eyes shut for a moment before she found something else to talk about.

“I swear, half of Gavin’s toys come from them, but they seem to enjoy it. I just recently got a promotion at work so this Sevenmas I’m planning a larger affair, with a few more toys than Gavin is used to. I want to make it special for him.” 

She twirled hair around her finger, but watched in her peripheral vision as Sandor straightened in his chair, eyes still trained on her.

“Sansa,” he spoke, but she didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to hear her name on his lips, so she kept talking, as though he hadn’t spoken at all.

“They have been good to us, Sandor. My family--they’re all either dead or scattered to the four corners of the earth, and I don’t see them but maybe once a year, and not all of them. They seem to take turns. But Davos and Marya--I can’t tell you how many times a year they come up to see us.”

“Sansa.” 

Her name wasn’t spoken any louder, with any more insistancy than before, but it hit her harder all the same.

“If not for them, I don’t know what we would have done. This house… It was perfect. Perfect for Gavin and I. And he loved it so.” 

She heard panic color her words but refused to quiet.

“And I was so lonely, and I don’t know what happened--Gavin, perhaps, I guess, because he’s such a talkative little boy. He somehow convinced them to give us this house even though I couldn’t afford everything they were asking for. He had both Davos and Marya crying before I could do anything about it.” 

She felt a tear slip out of her eye, travel down her cheek and land on her arm, but she paid it no mind. She was sure it wasn’t caused by her recollection of the day Davos and Marya had given her the cottage.

“Sansa.”

“And Gavin loves them so much, he truly does. He--he--” Sandor had moved, was sitting on the edge of his seat watching her as she spoke, as she rambled, and still she did not stop. 

Could not stop.

“He loves them,” she said again, “And asked them to be his grandparents. Can you believe that? For a boy who has such a quiet father, he will talk you up one side and down the other, and--and…”

Sandor slid off the chair onto one knee, sliding closer to her as his hand reached out for the armrest of her chair. 

Sansa felt her heart try to beat out of her chest, and she fought it back, but more tears were slipping out. She smiled and laughed, wiping them away as if they were a joke, and talked some more, this time letting things slip that she didn’t think she wanted to let slip, but they came out as conversationally as everything else she had said, if a bit tinted by sobs caught in the back of her throat.

“We were so lonely, and they filled that void. They filled the void in our hearts, when I was missing my parents and my siblings and you and everything good that had been in my life.” 

Sandor now knelt in front of her, his knee to one side of her feet on the floor and his other raised, bracketing her legs, trapping her in. He had both hands on her armrests and she shook her head, shook it and shook it as she blabbered on and on. He looked so handsome, so unreal there in front of her, like the Warrior offering something to her, only she didn’t want to ask what, didn’t want to look into those fathomless gray eyes lest she lose herself to her hopes and desires and what couldn’t be,  Because as sure as he was there now, he would leave   again.

“They came into our lives just when I needed them, and just when Gavin needed them, and he’s such a good boy because of them, because they were the influence he was missing, Davos was the man that Gavin was missing in his life.

“And I can’t do this, Sandor, I can’t hope for you and I don’t know why you’re here and please just say something, anything, because I can’t… I can’t do this--I can’t--”

The minute he lifted his arms she launched herself into them, and didn’t even bother asking if she could before she pressed her mouth to his, speaking against his lips and his mustache as he kissed her, or at least tried to.

“I missed you so much, Sandor--” she kissed him as he dug his hands up into her hair, licking at her lips and making her moan as she smelled the familiar breath tinged with coffee. “I was so tired of doing this alone and Davos and Marya were here to help but it wasn’t the same--” 

Her own hands went into his hair, so familiar and long and silky and tickling her skin. 

“I don’t want to do this alone anymore, Sandor, please, don’t make me beg--” his mouth travelled back to her cheek, dropping wet kisses to her jaw, her cheek, her ear, tucking her lobe between his teeth and causing her to gasp at the sensation. “Don’t make me beg, Sandor, please, please--”

“I’m not going to make you beg, Little Bird,” he rasped into her throat, and she ran her hands over him, feeling the familiar breadth of his shoulders that her hands remembered so well, perhaps slightly broader now that he had been gone for six years. He was different and yet he was still the same Sandor--the man who had saved her from beating, who had given her hope that not everyone on that damned compound was as ruthless and conniving and brutal as Joffrey and his mother.

“You’re not? You’re… You’re going to stay? Stay with me, oh,  _ please _ , stay with me and Gavin and don’t make us be alone anymore--” she gasped again when he pressed an open mouth kiss to the hollow of her throat, moving around to the other side and mirroring the path he had taken away from her mouth to now return, “--I’m so sorry, Sandor, I’m so sorry--”

“Stop talking, Little Bird,” he growled, and his arms came around her to crush her to his chest when he finally, deeply, devoured her mouth, tangling his tongue so sensually and frantically with her own that she didn’t realize for many moments that the wetness she felt on her face was not only her tears but his as well. He had been crying, and she hadn’t even noticed.

Shocked, she pulled back suddenly, as far as his thick, shackling arms would let her go, and she squeezed her arms up between them to cup his cheeks--the smooth, beard covered one and the pitted, rough scarred one. So familiar--he was  _ so familiar _ \--every part of him, that it made her heart ache for the memories they missed out on making over the last six years.

“Oh gods, Sandor, oh  _ gods _ ,” she nearly cried, wiping away his tears with her thumbs. His silver eyes were heavy with tears, and she watched him blink, sending a small torrent of the liquid down into his beard just before she pressed her lips to the skin below his eyes, kissing him there gently, switching to the other side where she licked at the trail the tears had left, soothing him with her hands and her tongue and her lips.

The shaking she felt was his sobs, mixing with the trembling her own were causing, and she wrapped her arms around him, sinking to the floor in front of him so there was no longer any room between their torsos for misgivings or reservations.

“Never,” he growled against her mouth, once again capturing her lips as one of his hands grasped her hair and tilted her head while the other roamed over her back, her shoulders, the curve of her waist and the roundness of her hips. Then it was behind her, his fingers sliding between her legs for purchase on the back of her thigh as he pulled her against him.

“Mine,” he whispered hoarsely, but pulling her tightly into him sent him off balance and they fell backwards, with her landing on top of his chest, sprawled out on the hard floor of the porch.

“Yes,” she gasped into his mouth.

“Forever.”

“Yes!”

Both of his hands came up and carded through her hair, grasping her there only hard enough to drag her away from his face so he could look at her. Her tears dripped down onto his cheeks as his fell back into his hair at his temples.

“I’m so sorry for leaving, Little Bird. I’m so sorry, so  _ gods damned sorry _ .”

But Sansa was shaking her head, somehow managing to smile through her tears as she looked down at him, again bringing her hands to his face and touching him--his forehead, his nose, his brows, the curve of his lips and the hairs of his beard. There was no inch of his face she left untouched. Then she did the same thing with her mouth--kissing his brow, his nose, his eyelids, his chin, leaving off at his mouth when she waited, staring at his lips, until she finally saw the corners turn upwards into the smile he had been aiming at Gavin all night. 

Only now it was different--darker, sensual whereas the smile for Gavin had been playful and good humored.

He had a smile just for her, and it caused a fresh wave of tears as she lowered her mouth to his, straddling his body and squeezing his hips with her thighs. She ran her tongue across his lower lip, already open and waiting for her to allow him to kiss her. But she wanted more, she wanted everything, and she wanted to make promises and hear promises that would eventually become vows.

“Forever,” she echoed, and he nodded against her mouth, his hair spilling out behind him on the porch, making her realize what he’d meant all those years ago when he told her she had a red halo. He was magnificent, a  mythical creature that was now hers--he had promised.

“I’m so sorry,” he said again, and she watched as a tear dripped out of the corner of his eye as she lifted her head. But she caught it on her finger and brought it to her mouth as he continued to speak, watching the emotions play through his eyes like a motion picture. “I’m sorry for leaving, for not knowing about--about--”

“Shh,” she shushed, putting the wet finger to his lips. “Even I didn’t know,” she whispered, stilling her body as she looked down into his face. And it was the truth--she didn’t find out about Gavin until six weeks later when she realized her cycle hadn’t come.

The only consolation for her condition was she knew for a fact it belonged to Sandor.

“Yes, but I missed out on so much--”

“How could you have known?” Sansa interrupted him, now the one doing the soothing as she watched him process these new emotions and filtered them through his perception of their new reality. “I never tried to contact you,” she admitted, but he just shook his head.

“Aye, and I never tried to contact you, either, though I should have. Sansa, you left an indelible mark on me, one I couldn't ignore.” He reached up, tucked her hair behind her ear and traced a line from her forehead down her nose, across her lips, before grasping her chin between his fingers. “I thought about you every gods-damned day, Little Bird. Every single day, you were on my mind.”

He cupped her cheek, stroked her with his thumb, and then smiled, a watery smile as his eyes once again pooled with tears.

“And now I get to have you every day for the rest of my life.”

They were the words she wanted to hear; words that she would never tire of hearing.

“Aye,” she whispered, dropping her face to rub her nose against his, pressing a kiss to his lips that he returned feverishly. But she pulled away, smiling--still smiling, always smiling. He was hers, and she was his.

“From this day until the end of my days,” he whispered, looking from her eyes to her mouth and back again. A tear dropped from Sansa’s eye to his cheek, and they both laughed quietly, softly, sharing the moment together there on the porch.

“Aye, from this day,” she whispered, nuzzling at his cheek with her nose, “Until the end of my days.”

 

~~~~~  


 

It took them two months to sort through everything, and to familiarize themselves with each other, to schedule a day when Davos and Marya could come down, and to contact all three of her remaining siblings to find out that none of them would be able to make it. 

But that mattered little to her, because she was going to marry Sandor Clegane today, and that was the most important thing.

Two months of soft touches, fevered kisses, and of batting his hands away when he tried to touch her. She’d hiss at him that Gavin was just in his room, and he would chuckle and swat her butt as she walked away, shooting him a sultry smile over her shoulder while biting her lip. She knew it drove him crazy, that look, so she did it as often as she could.

He did his own fair share of batting her hands away, when he was doing dishes and she played that he couldn’t touch her with soapy hands. She would come up behind him and run her hands up his chest, over his pectorals and up to the front of his shoulders.

Then she would slide them down his shirt, teasing him as she passed his belt, gliding over his pockets and down the front of his thighs-- _ this _ close to the place on him she yearned to touch and she was fairly certain he was dying for her to touch as well. 

It was she that had insisted on this abstinence, although even he had admitted several times that it was a good idea. It gave them time to form their family unit, with Gavin already calling him Daddy, much to Sandor’s delight, and getting used to having him around most of the time. It wasn’t long before they let go of the babysitter temporarily, because as long as Sandor was going to be coming over when he woke up at the hotel in the morning, and only leaving when it proved difficult for him and Sansa to stop touching each other, there was no need for anyone else to watch the boy.

He eventually found a good job working security at a local bank, and soon they settled into a routine--Sansa dropped Gavin off at school in the morning and then went to work, while Sandor had already been at work for several hours.  After Sandor picked Gavin up from school, they would wait at home or sometimes at the park for Sansa to get off work. It worked well for them, and Gavin was flourishing having both of his parents around.

When it was time for them to say their vows, it was Davos who walked Sansa down the aisle to a waiting Sandor. They recited their vows in Winterfell’s sept as Gavin watched from between Davos and Marya, a big grin on his seven-year-old face.

As it turned out, Davos had shipping contacts that knew how to find people who didn’t want to be found, but when Sandor heard from the older man about Sansa, and that she seemed sad and that she had a small child who looked inexplicably like Sandor, it only took minutes for Sandor to change his life path and to quit his dead end job, telling Davos through the phone that he would book a ticket to Winterfell in the next few minutes.

But Davos had said sail to King’s Landing, and there they concocted the easy plan that instead of Davos and Marya going up to visit for the holiday, that it would be Sandor instead.

So when Davos kissed Sansa’s cheek after the ceremony and wished her well, she looked at him with heartfelt tears.

“You’ve given me one of the greatest gifts I’ve ever received,” she said, holding his hand and reaching for Marya’s with her other. “I never thought I would ever be this happy.”

Marya reached up to draw her down for a kiss on Sansa’s other cheek, and patted it when she drew away.

“You’ve been like the daughter we never had, and I’m so glad you’ve welcomed us into your family.”

More tears flowed, but Sansa wiped them away, leaving her with wet cheeks and a watery smile.

“And I’m glad you’ve welcomed me and Gavin, as well as Sandor now, into yours.”

“Wife,” came the deep voice of her husband, and she turned to him then, laughing lightly as he walked up, looking at her wet cheeks. He lifted large hands and wiped his thumbs beneath her eyes before saying, “There’s to be no tears on our wedding day.” Then he bent down and pressed a kiss to her mouth, causing her heart to beat faster as she was reminded of the night they were about to have.

“Aye, husband--no more tears.”

“Pay no mind to her,” Davos reassured the larger man with a hearty slap on the back. “She’s a woman, and women have need to express their emotions like that.” He and Sandor shared a short laugh as Marya took the hand of a very happy Gavin.

“Don’t you worry about us,” she said to Sansa, who now held her husband’s hand in both of hers. “Gavin will be safe with us. We’ve got a whole week of activities planned, and he’s to meet every one of our grandkids.”

“Some are even my age!” Gavin said excitedly to both Sandor and Sansa. He looked up lovingly at Marya, who tucked a dark curl out of his face and behind his ear.

“Aye, you lovely boy,” she cooed, as affectionately as Sansa was sure Marya spoke to her own blood grandchildren. “And you’ll have your fill of cookies and sweets, too, just as long as you help me bake them.”

“Oh,” Sansa laughed, “He does love to bake. But I think it’s the dough he prefers, to the finished product.”

They all shared a laugh as Gavin nodded excitedly and rubbed his belly. It was a fine day, with all of them together.  _ Family _ , Sansa thought. She felt her heart swell with pride.

“Now,” Davos started, turning her and Sandor by the shoulders and ushering them out of the sept, Marya and Gavin following. “Since you won’t take us up on the offer of a King’s Landing honeymoon, we’ll leave you two so you can return to the cottage and start your honeymoon.” Outside the station wagon was waiting, as well as Davos’s sedan to take him and his wife and adopted grandson back to their home. It was a beautiful day; snowy white and gloriously sunny, and Sansa found herself both eager to begin her marriage and already missing Gavin, who was, at that moment, drawn up into Sandor’s big arms.

She watched her husband and son embrace as a fresh wave of tears flooded her eyes, and then soon found herself being brought into the circle of their arms--a large trunk of muscle wrapped around her shoulders, while a much smaller, thinner twig wrapped around her neck. And as she hugged the two most important men in her life, she had never felt so full, so content, and so happy.

She looked up to kiss Gavin’s cheeks and found a tear rolling down his face as well, immediate concern overriding the happiness that had been cloying just a moment before.

“Gavin, aren’t you happy?” She was convinced by the tear that he wasn’t, but then he smiled his little boy smile, missing those two front teeth that made him the cutest boy she had ever seen. His gray eyes were watery, but they shone with a love for her and Sandor as he looked between his parents, first at one and then the other.

“Yes, Mama, I’m happy. I’ll miss you, but I’ll be back.” He wriggled to get out of Sandor’s arms, pausing once he was back on his feet. He ran to Davos and was swung up into capable arms, his thin little legs dangling as Davos hugged him fiercely.

“Now be gone with you,” the man was saying, as Sandor led Sansa to the open door of the running station wagon. “And don’t you call us until you’re good and sure you’ve made us a granddaughter--”

“Davos!” Marya blushed furiously, swatting his arm as she looked at him, shocked that he would utter such a thing.

“What?” Gavin looked thoroughly confused, wondering what it was that had just been said. “What does that mean? How are they going to make me a sister?”

Sansa’s blush and Sandor’s grin were the last thing they saw as they couple shut the doors and drove off towards their cottage.

 

~~~~~

 

Sansa couldn’t breathe. She drew the air into her lungs and exhaled rapidly, over and over again, feeling the constriction around her chest of the tight gown. She was seeing bright lights at the edges of her vision, feeling the tingles in her fingertips as they scrambled for purchase on anything within reach--the hardwood floor beneath her, the leg of the couch beside her head, the bunched up fabric of the skirt around her waist. 

But instead they found Sandor’s hair, there between her legs, where he was looking up at her.

“Are you alright?” he growled, his eyes dark and his mustache glistening with her arousal. He reached up and drew a hand down over his mouth, removing the liquid but licking at his lips at the same time. 

Sansa lifted her head only long enough to nod at him before she let it fall again, landing with a  _ thump _ against the floor. Her breathing was returning to normal, but as she watched Sandor lift himself to his hands and knees, and crawl up her body until he was cradled by her legs and wrapped in her arms, she felt the pressure building deep inside her abdomen--a burning want for the man who had just made her shatter into millions of pieces.

“I love you, Sandor Clegane,” she whispered, not for the first time in the previous ten minutes. 

Over and over she’d said it as he parted and licked and caressed her, holding the white panties out of the way until he’d ripped them down her legs with a feral growl, ridding her of the only impediment to him fully taking control of her body.

“ _ I love you, I love you, I love you, Sandor!” _ she’d cried, as he held her legs apart with broad palms at her knees, his large body crouched between them, giving her pleasure in ways that harkened back to their single night together in King’s Landing.

And now over her, he bent to kiss her, the scent of her on his face only serving to inflame her passion to new heights as he pressed himself against her, his hardness pushing into her core through the tight fabric of his slacks.

Sansa let her hands drift over his back, feeling the tautness of the muscles beneath his shirt, wanting it off him, her head clouded with thoughts of getting him naked and beneath her and at  _ her _ mercy. She whispered these thoughts into his ear, and he in turn growled and nipped at the sensitive skin of her neck, exposed by the low neck of her gown.

“Aye, wife,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with his own desire, and they rose together.

True to her word, in moments she had him under her on the small bed, naked as his nameday as she straddled his hips, nothing covering her body but the silky white bra she’d worn beneath her wedding dress. His feet hung off the end of the bed, but it didn’t matter, not when between her legs, nestled against the auburn thatch of curls was the proof of what she did to him--or so he said. She aimed to prove him true, and to see just how hard she could get him before she allowed both of them the release their bodies yearned for.

And so she started to move, his wide hands circling her thighs and stroking from crease to knee and back again, but never touching--he wouldn’t, she knew, unless he had her permission. Nothing, absolutely nothing would be done to her without her permission, which was just another reason why he felt like the piece of her heart that had been missing for years and years.

The contrast of his skin against hers was jarring--two people, from two different worlds, coming together in a marriage that would stand the tests of time. It was like poetry between them, with his aroused moans being her refrain, her movements against him the rhythmic measure dictating his heartbeat. Forward and back, forward and back, sliding her slick folds against his length as she ran her hands up her chest, over her breasts, and up into her own hair.

She wanted touch, needed touch, but needed to show him she was her own woman--and so she stroked her own skin as he watched, pleasured herself over him while denying him his, until she finally reached behind her and unbuckled the clasp of her bra at the same moment his name came as a whisper past her lips.

_ Permission _ . She was on her back and he between her legs in an instant, his mouth descending to her chest in a flurry of kisses and sucks and licks against her sensitized skin, making her cry out into the empty cottage, filling it with sounds of their love, uninhibited.

And he loved her-- _ oh _ , did he love her--with his mouth and his hands, feeling and filling at once, taking and receiving, just as she was doing beneath him. She grasped him with her thighs, rubbed at his shoulders, arms, and neck with her hands; ran her palms through that glorious pelt of hair spread across his chest; and drew him by his chin up, up, until mouth met mouth and tongue tasted lips, so sweet, so missed.

It was like there had never been a day apart between them when he finally slid into her, slowly at first, pausing here for a nip at her throat, there for a nibble at her ear, and throughout as she sought to make love to him with her mouth against his, pouring out all her emotions in the way she yearned for him with her entire body.

It was like there had never been a day apart between them, and yet it also felt like it had taken an eternity to get to this point, when he slid all the way home,  _ home _ , and paused yet again, wiping at the tears that formed in the corners of her eyes.

“I love you, Sansa,” he whispered harshly, a vein pulsing on his forehead as he withheld his own pleasure to drill home how much she meant to him. His muscles trembled, his face reddened, but still he held, and Sansa nodded, stroking his nose with her thumb, his lips with her forefinger as he said, “From this day--”

“--Til the end of my days--” and her own words were cut off when he withdrew, a sensation never once making her feel like he was leaving her, for she knew it would be followed by his reentry, so swift and sure--a claiming of ownership that she freely gave, because with it came the reassurance that it was her who owned his heart, who claimed it, who held it in her palm.

In and out, gasps and sighs, moans and cries--the pressure built within her as she knew it did in him, and when she finally blessed him with her coming apart, her cry accompanied with clawing at his back as her release crashed through her with tremor after tremor, wave after wave, he pulled his knees up, wrapped his arms beneath her, and cradled her in his cocoon as he thrust. Buried deep, it was only moments before his strangled cry in the curve of her neck dissolved into trembling shoulders and he held her close, keeping his face buried as she stroked his sweat-slicked back with soft palms, soothing his soul even as he soothed hers with his embrace.

They remained there long enough that he became hard again, and the second time he moved within her without breaking eye contact, until her eyes were forced closed only as his body rubbed her  _ just so _ and brought her once again over the precipice. He soon followed, mouth connecting with hers as she swallowed his moan of release and accepted his love and his kiss and his promise and his vows.

She was his and he was hers.

 

~~~~~  
  


“Sandor, Sandor,  _ Sandor _ ,” she whispered, holding his face to her neck as she rode above him, nearly three months after their wedding. They were trying to stay quiet, as Gavin was sleeping in the next room and it was late and he had school in the morning. Both Sansa and Sandor had to work, as well, but when she woke him up, having stretched behind him where she had rested, his back to her stomach, she’d accompanied it with a trailing of fingers down his side, to the back of his hip where she knew he was sensitive, and down his thigh, bringing him out of sleep in the way she knew he liked best.

It didn’t take long for him to pull himself up to the headboard of their new, bigger bed, and for Sansa to straddle him, rising above and sinking down, taking him in one fell swoop, loving how he arched his neck and gasped beneath her.

She had reached up to scratch at his neck, the hair covering it tickling her fingertips. She marvelled at the play of muscles beneath her hands, leaning forward to indulge in pressing kisses to him there in a way that had, over the last two months, proven irresistible to her.

But he was close now, she could feel it--felt the swelling of him inside her, just as he reached down to play with her sensitive nub, to stroke her with the pad of his finger to ensure he didn’t find his release before she found hers.

“Sandor,” she breathed, rocking her hips now against his hand as much as she did around his cock, as their breaths quickened and she felt his beard rub against her breasts.

“Sansa,” came his answer, and then he was pulsing inside her, releasing his fertile seed into her as she split into the same millions of pieces that she always did at the work of his body--the result of what his body could make her feel, spur her to do. With another lifting and falling of her body, her breath hitched, as did his, at the movement over such sensitive skin, and they smiled at each other in the dim moonlight that filtered through the open window. 

“I love you.” His words came between sweet kisses--his were always so sweet--as he nipped and tasted her lips, tickling her face with his mustache. 

With hands cupping his jaw, she kissed him back, nodding when she had to pull back to tell him, “Aye, husband, I love you, too.”

A short time later, after they had risen to wash and he had proven why it was so dangerous for her to walk around naked with him in the room--she had learned early on she was perfectly capable of being brought to orgasm by his eager mouth with her back pressed against the cool tile of the brightly lit bathroom floor--she laid in bed, this time with her back to his chest. 

She liked it when they laid like this, with his hands caressing the new shapes her breasts made with her laying on her side. He liked it too, he had told her, and she often fell asleep with his hands on them, as though she were his security blanket and they were the best handhold. Indeed, they often shared a private joke when on their walks with Gavin, if she caught him looking.

But now he palmed them softly, his normally relaxing caressing of her nipples now making her hips squirm at the same time his hand paused over her skin. He took one breast in his hand, the top one in this position, and she felt him hold it in his palm, to feel it, weigh it, mould it to his fingers as though he was studying it.

Then he froze, and she shifted her hips back against his, willing him to harden once again because she had such a great need for him, for her husband, to fill her intimately.

But he was not moved, and instead rose on his elbow and pulled her back so she was twisted, now looking up into his confused face.

“Sansa…” He whispered, his hand moving to her other breast, his dangling hair tickling her face before she reached up and tucked it behind his ear.

“Yes, husband?” With her other hand she stroked his chest, but then smiled as he batted it away, his own hand stilling on her breast, her nipple lightly held between thumb and forefinger. She wanted to writhe beneath him, to get him to pinch and tug and twist until she cried out, but she could also see the time had come.

“Your breasts, they’re…”

“Bigger?”

He sighed a breath out his nose before giving her a terse nod.

“Aye,” came his whisper.

“And what do you think that means, Sandor?”

She watched him, waiting for the knowledge to dawn on him, but it didn’t. He was confused, and she knew she should take pity on him, but the way he was rubbing and feeling her breasts, weighing them and seeing how they even looked different in his hands, the roundness now fuller than they had been even a month ago, her nipples slightly darker, and quite obviously more sensitive, as he pinched them again and she had to close her eyes as she moaned.

“If I tell you, will you make love to me?”

He looked as though he was going to choke, that she would make such a request when his mind was struggling to catch up. But he nodded again, and she smiled at him before turning again on her side, her back to him when he lowered down to the mattress behind her.

For good measure, she nestled her bottom against-- _ yes _ , his arousal was pressing against her. She knew he would never be immune to her, so she used it to her advantage and rotated her hips, feeling him grow as he shifted, pressing to her opening while she lifted her leg to give him better access.

“Would you like a boy or a girl?”

His pause--a long one, a weighty one, wherein she heard his breath cease and his body freeze--lasted long enough that she began to turn back towards him, not sure now if the way she had told him was right. Perhaps she had just sent her new husband into shock with her announcement?

With the burning need still simmering low in her abdomen, she reached back, her hand landing on his hip to get his attention, but he chose that moment to sigh-- _ deeply _ \--and entered her, turning the tables and shocking her into speechlessness.

“You do me great honor, wife,” he whispered, rocking his hips into her as he palmed her breast, pinching her nipples, one after the other, in that way he knew she loved. When he pulled out nearly all the way and pulled his hips close, sinking himself back into her, she gasped, pulling her pillow against her face to muffle her sounds. It was so intense like this, so extraordinary, that it took her a moment before she could pull away from the pillow and nod in return.

“As you do for me, husband,” she whispered, falling into the steady rhythm; fist clenching into sheet, eyes squeezed shut, trying and failing to keep her breathing even as his warm body wrapped around her.

It was a moment unlike any other--the moment they had been robbed of by fate, by ignorance, and their own poor choices--the moment she told him she was pregnant with his child, that his seed had taken root deep within her womb, and that she was  _ happy _ , so very happy. Nearly eight years ago they had missed this opportunity, when he had gone to her, made love to her, and planted his seed that would eventually become her--their--sweet Gavin. Now they were a family, and they would soon be adding another son, or perhaps a daughter, to their perfect harmonious life, in their little cottage in Winterfell.

The Gods had taken away, and the Gods had returned--Sansa knew her life was complete, and that she had everything she ever could have wanted in life--all her gifts. Family. Husband. Love. It was hers, finally.

 

~~~~~

 

The picture stayed on their fridge for years to come--Sansa with Gavin standing in front of her, one of her hands wrapped in front of his chest that, even at eight years old, had started to fill out and made him look more like his father every day. Her other arm, wrapped around Sandor’s waist, who stood beside her with his own arm wrapped around her shoulders. And nestled into the crook of his arm, being smiled at by all three of them, was perfect little Katie, with the legendary mop of red curls that refused to sit flat, and that gave them endless reasons for laughter.

Yes, it stayed on their fridge for years, and one day--many years later, when Gavin was off with friends and Katie was humming in the living room of their small cottage, drawing the castle she wished to live in someday, her hair barely tamed beneath the headband Sandor insisted she wear, he walked up behind Sansa, who stood in the kitchen smiling at it wistfully, thinking of days gone by.

Sandor’s hand slid around into their familiar positions--left hand on left breast, right hand on right breast, feeling the weight of them, the roundness, the familiarity of a body he had grown to know better than his own, he often said. Usually said, actually, when his mouth was on some part of that body--her neck, her breasts, the crease between her pelvis and thigh, or extracting from her cries and whimpers when he lowered his mouth and brought her to release right before the kids got off the bus from school.

So now, when his hands paused and began a more scientific exploration, and she felt him looking down at her chest even as her eyes never wavered from the photograph on the fridge, he groaned dramatically, causing her to turn with a start, finding instead of the consternation she had expected, that familiar--if somewhat more gray--smile of his, the one that he always gave when she had given him a gift, or told him good news.

“Again?” he asked, but she never had to question whether he would be happy about it. His pride shown through on his face as though he had done it on purpose.

“You, my love, have strong swimmers.” 

He laughed at that, a hearty laugh where he threw back his head and drew Katie’s smiling gaze from the living room. When he returned his gaze to her, it was to drop a kiss to her lips, a tender kiss that spoke of his love and reverence for his lady wife.

But it wasn’t long before he pulled back, genuine concern casting a light shade over his eyes.

“But the twins--”

“Are nearly three,” she reassured him. It was a familiar concern with him, as he was always aware of emotions that could arise in children when siblings were added. Gavin was over the moon when they had Katie, and Gavin and Katie were both over the moon when Sansa and Sandor had announced the impending arrival of Edmund and Sawyer, their identical redhead, gray-eyed twin boys. 

No, he had nothing to worry about.

“Everything will be well, Sandor. This one will be loved as much as the other four.” She reached a hand up and laid it on his scarred cheek, feeling him lean into it immediately as was his habit when she did that. Never shy of taking comfort from his wife, Sandor had grown into his role of husband and father with more ease than she had ever thought imaginable. But he was still scarred, still fragile in a way she never spoke out loud.

“I love you, Sansa,” he said, his eyes misting as her own were forced to empty, tears once pooled on her lower lids now sliding down her cheeks and leaving trails for Sandor’s thumbs to wipe away gently.

“And I love you, Sandor.”

“From this day--”

“--Until the end of my days.”

**Author's Note:**

> FYI, the song I was listening to, oddly enough, was the Christian song "So Will I, 1 Billion X," a Hillsong Worship cover by Tori Kelly.
> 
> Give it a listen, the melody is amazing and Kelly does a phenomenal job.
> 
>  
> 
> [Tori Kelly - So Will I](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IuedrKMVbFk)


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